I once wrote some poems of stillness and silence
Standing by rivers of reflected light
My thoughts were on being loved and yet unloved, too
I surrendered to the warmth of the night
And now I feel like dying
And if the water were still here, it would
Hold me close

I once wrote a poem while walking on gravestones
As cobbles, rain and tears lashed down my face
I then felt my whole world was fading
As memories jostled and fell into place
And now I feel like dying
And the pain of old fires still burns

I never wrote poems when I bit my knuckles
And death started slipping into my mouth
But that was really a long time ago
And I'm not writing poems now
And though I don't feel quite like dying
There is something deep inside me
Softly crying

And though I don't feel quite like dying
There is something deep inside me softly